


Unnatural

by draculard



Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [25]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Political Parties, Post-Bilbringi AU, Social Anxiety, Thrawn Lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: "I’d rather be sitting on the bridge with Rukh’s knife through my chest than sparring with a group of Senators and Moffs,” Thrawn said.“Verbally sparring,” Pellaeon corrected him. Then, realizing Thrawn might have actually meant what he said, he repeated more firmly, “Verbally sparring, Thrawn. No hitting.”"If you insist."
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904581
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Unnatural

They’d been to countless political parties since the Empire’s defeat of the New Republic, but then the Rebel insurgence had occurred, and for more than a year Thrawn and Pellaeon had been blissfully preoccupied with space battles instead. Unfortunately, the long break hadn’t refreshed them so much as it had made them rusty; Pellaeon looked at himself in the mirror, feeling stiff and out-of-place in his dress uniform. 

Thrawn, on the other hand, looked much better. He’d been ready for over an hour now and was standing impatiently in the doorway of their hotel room, refusing to sit down so as to avoid wrinkling his uniform. He glanced at his chrono every now and then, but Pellaeon suspected he’d be more than a little pleased if they missed the party entirely.

“Alright,” Pellaeon said, giving up on his dress uniform necktie. The knot was as square as it would ever get. “I’m ready.”

He grabbed his hotel key and joined Thrawn at the door, raising his eyebrows. Thrawn watched him approach, but made no move to go.

“You’re certain?” he asked, scanning up and down Pellaeon’s body.

“Are you flirting,” asked Pellaeon suspiciously, “or are you checking my uniform for mistakes?” 

“Checking for mistakes,” said Thrawn after a brief pause for thought. He glanced at the bed. “But if you’d rather—”

“No, no,” said Pellaeon reluctantly. “We’ve put this off long enough. And with the insurgence over, it’s more important now than ever that we get the Moffs and former Senators on our side.”

A strange expression flickered across Thrawn’s face. He adjusted the collar of his tunic and gave a brief nod, following Pellaeon out of the room. 

“Besides,” said Pellaeon, “it’s our first party since we got together. I’d like to show you off.”

Some of the tension left Thrawn’s face, but the smile he cast Pellaeon’s way was thin and distracted. “Can we—” he started, then shook his head. “Let’s review our objectives for the night,” he suggested, setting off at a slower pace than usual. 

Pellaeon obliged, running through the list of former New Republic dignitaries who would be there — their names, home planets, political stances, past military service. As he spoke, he kept an eye on Thrawn, who seemed to grow more distant as the list went on. 

They left the hotel, walking through the streets of Chandrila, which were lit up with floating lanterns now that night had fallen. By the time they reached the banquet hall, Pellaeon had quite run out of things to say. He glanced sideways at Thrawn, who came to a stop several meters back from the open door, his face tight with the same unnatural-looking expression Pellaeon had caught a glimpse of earlier.

He looked around and saw too many party guests and pedestrians milling about for him to grab Thrawn’s hand. Instead, he reached over and rested a hand on Thrawn’s shoulder, his touch light and gentle. 

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Thrawn straightened up a little, but didn’t quite shrug Pellaeon’s hand off. “Of course,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Pellaeon studied him a moment longer before answering. “You’re breathing a bit fast,” he said. 

“Oh?” said Thrawn, his voice a little strangled. He stared down at his hands, uselessly adjusting the fit of his white gloves. “Perhaps the walk over—”

Pellaeon cut him off with a snort. He shifted his hand down to Thrawn’s arm, tugging him away from the door. At first, Thrawn didn’t budge, but when Pellaeon kept pulling, he acquiesced and allowed Pellaeon to guide him toward the little alleyway between the banquet hall and the building next door.

“You know,” said Pellaeon when they were alone, “this is the first party we’ve attended as a couple.”

Thrawn wrinkled his nose. “You’re going senile, Gilad. You said that already.”

Oh, so _that’s_ how he wanted to play this. Unfortunately for Thrawn, Pellaeon knew him too well to be goaded. He prodded Thrawn farther down the alleyway, out of the other partygoers’ sight. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked, studying Thrawn’s face.

Thrawn tried to smile, but it came out brittle and hard-edged. 

“You’re wearing the exact same look on your face that you got when you first asked me out,” Pellaeon said. When Thrawn didn’t answer, Pellaeon cocked his head and said, “Have these parties _always_ made you nervous?”

“Stop,” said Thrawn, batting Pellaeon’s hands off his shoulders. “I’m not _nervous_ , Gilad. I’m ... steeped in dread." He shrugged. "There’s a subtle difference.”

Pellaeon barked out a laugh and put his hands on Thrawn’s waist, since apparently his shoulders were such a problem. “I never realized,” he said apologetically. “I always thought you were just bored at these affairs.”

“Well,” said Thrawn, allowing Pellaeon to pull him closer, “you know me better now.”

“Why do you dread them?” Pellaeon asked, now standing chest-to-chest with Thrawn. “Because you hate politics, or just because they’re … well, dreadful?”

“Ugh.” A bit dramatically, Thrawn tipped his head forward and hid his face against Pellaeon’s shoulder. “One feeds into the other. I’d rather be sitting on the bridge with Rukh’s knife through my chest than sparring with a group of Senators and Moffs.”

“ _Verbally_ sparring,” Pellaeon corrected him. Then, realizing Thrawn might not have made a mistake, he said more firmly, “ _Verbally_ _sparring_ , Thrawn. No hitting.”

“If you insist,” said Thrawn. He hesitated, his face still hidden against Pellaeon’s shoulder, and then quickly wrapped his arms around Pellaeon, pulling him even closer. It took Pellaeon a moment longer than it should have to realize he was being hugged; he returned the embrace at once, even going so far as to rub Thrawn’s back — which was, of course, the exact moment that Thrawn turned away.

“You’re wrinkling my tunic, Gilad,” he complained.

“ _You’re_ the one who—” Closing his eyes, Pellaeon took a calming breath and shook his head. “Whatever. You’re always such a bastard when you’re nervous, you know.”

He opened his eyes to see Thrawn staring out the alleyway at the open door to the banquet hall.

“But I suppose I can put up with it for the night,” said Pellaeon more gently. He touched Thrawn’s hand, getting his attention, and nodded toward the banquet hall. “We really should go inside,” he said. Then, squeezing Thrawn’s hand quickly before releasing him, “I’ll help you steal a painting from Mon Mothma afterward, if it makes you feel better.”

Thrawn brightened unbelievably at that. He turned to Pellaeon with a half-smile and nodded, and finally they left the alley, approaching the banquet hall.

They were halfway through the party when Pellaeon caught the Grand Admiral eyeing the door to Mon Mothma’s office and began to suspect Thrawn didn’t know he was joking.


End file.
